I Didn’t Know You Were Adopted
An odd comment, I’ve always thought when I mention that I was indeed adopted. I grew up always knowing I was adopted just like I knew my birthdate. It was no big deal as a little kid with my older brother who was also adopted. It seemed pretty normal and the only one who ever brought it up was my grandmother, Oma.
I was born with a hole in my heart and my mom says that the adoption agency said my parents could return me but mom said she was sure I was meant to be hers and kept me. Apparently, my 2 grandmothers laid hands in prayer on me and my body jumped, perhaps from gas says mom, but the grandmother’s claim it was the Lord curing me. The hole closed and I was healed.
My dad’s sister has 2 adopted children also, my cousins – boy and girl – so it seemed like adoption was normal for the most part. My brother was named after my father and I was named after my grandmother. Namesakes are huge on my mother’s side of the family. Only 3 people aren’t part of a namesake connection.
This writing feels sterile as does this part of the topic for me. Just the facts. Me and being adopted didn’t start to feel like anything until my teen years, I started to know more adopted kids and it started to be real. Real as in there are people out there that I am connected to, people that I might resemble. I had learned to ignore my petite frame, light skin, hair, and green eyes in the family pictures of people with strong features on tall bodies with dark hair and eyes.
Mom had mentioned to my brother and I that if we ever wanted to search for our birth parents, she and Dad would be supportive. She loves us so much and I knew this would break her heart and likely threaten her place as our mother in her mind. These comments never went any further with Mom.
My brother and I were in our late teens when we were somehow talking about our adoptions and he said of course he knew his birth name given to him by his birth parents, hadn’t I also snooped through our Dad’s desk files? Well, hell no I hadn’t snooped in Dad’s desk files. That was a bunch of legal paperwork junk, why would I? Our father is an attorney and apparently handled our adoptions, that’s why.
End of Random Chapter on My Adoption.